30 Sep 2012

For this week's Mag 137, Tess gave us a picture by Francesca Woodman. For some strange reason the shadowed face brought to mind a quote from William Shakespeare's As You Like It - to wit "sans hair, sans teeth, sans taste, sans everything"- and by the time I'd 'played' with the image, these words became even more relevant.

With apologies to Tess, Francesca and William, here is my take on the theme.

Mere shadows of our former selves, we cry,
pleading for more attention. Will we die
unshriven, shrivelled up and forgotten?
As weary flesh and bones crumble, rotten,
past repair, will they remember times when
we would feast on love, feast on it again,
until replete? Who could be berated
for wishing time would halt? We are fated
to be at its mercy, no turning back
to seek love's sustenance which we now lack.

25 Sep 2012

What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander...The twirl in Salle's picture made me start to wonder.I twirled it yet more, then cropped to reveala negative whirlpool which had more appeal,
at least, to my eyes...And now it is changed
I find it more pleasing with things rearranged.I prefer these cool blues, with their watery theme,to his brick red assemblage on which I'm less keen.But one lesson I've learned, as I've slowly grown older,that beauty resides in the eye of Beholder!

16 Sep 2012

He'd sailed all seven seas, but never found
one who could run his wave-locked keel aground
on the shores of passion. Until they'd met
and touched lips. Their breath and heart beats mingled,
and she was singled out to be his love,
to dance throughout eternal swathes of Time.

Undercurrents of blue ocean swells
formed the bed on which fair Venus lay
to entertain her valiant pirate lover...

With thanks to Tess, whose Salvador Dali illustration on the Mag 135 inspired this blogpost..

9 Sep 2012

And spheres within spheres
circle time
whose grains seep through history,
with the wisdom of fools
building volumes of posterity's future.
The blank pages
and spaces between words
allow alternative realities to creep in;
a dreamworld
hovers beyond awareness,
waiting for a turn of the glass,
waiting for a new beginning
which is only an action replay of the past.

Melodies
fill my heart with joy.
Their rhythms
resonate
to plucked strings of memories
I hold in my mind,
and I feel
sound waves wrap me round
as I drift
with the tide
which carries me on currents
of swirling music.